


Anything for Love

by EventHorizon



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-18
Updated: 2013-10-18
Packaged: 2017-12-29 17:36:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1008169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EventHorizon/pseuds/EventHorizon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg is being very sneaky about a project and Mycroft very much intends to find out why.  Of course, what Mycroft wants, Mycroft doesn't always get...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anything for Love

      “You don’t have access to a lorry, do you Mycroft?”

By now, Mycroft was somewhat used to his partner’s strange requests.  A blanket decorated with an atrocious sports emblem, an amusement for the computer involving the deceased and various forms of vegetation, a truly ridiculous hat from the American southwest that he insisted on hanging from the edge of the mirror in their bedroom… but a lorry?  Regardless, whatever Gregory wanted, he _would_ have.

      “One shall be delivered within the hour.  Is there a particular color or model that you prefer?”

      “No, just need a lorry.”

      “Very well, I shall leave instructions for the purchase and…”

      “What?  No!  I don’t want you to buy me a lorry, Mycroft.  I just want to use one for the day.  I could hire one, but I thought that if you had one loitering about that fleet of yours I could use that instead.  Do _not_ go out and buy one for me, you daft bastard.”

      “Very well, I shall have something appropriate made available for your use.  Now, may I inquire as to the reason you require such a vehicle?”

      “Nope.”

It was a rare thing that Mycroft was refused an answer to any question, but his partner had never shown any reticence to withholding information when he chose to do so.  It was one of his most infuriatingly-endearing qualities.

      “Then I shall ask why I am not allowed to know the purpose of your request.”

      “You’re Mr. Quiz today, aren’t you?”

      “I take it that is your colorful way of informing me you will also fail to answer _that_ question.”

      “Got it in one!”

      “Gregory, you are being rather childish.”

      “Isn’t it great?  Everyone needs to be a kid now and then.  Maybe I’ll stick out my tongue, too, and run around in my pants.”

Another problem associated with arguing with his Gregory.  Only a few words were necessary for Mycroft’s mind to turn away from the topic of the moment to a pleasant daydream involving his partner in various states of undress.

      “If that is your choice, I will not, of course, dissuade you.”

      “Pervert.  But, I really don’t have a problem with that.  Now, you go on and find me a lorry and I’ll keep getting things ready.”

      “Ready?  Oh, do pardon me.  I forgot this is No Questions Day.”

      “He’s two for two!  Oh, and I forgot.  No leaving the front of the house until I say so.”

Yes, this had vaulted beyond Gregory’s hideous sports blanket level of lunacy and into a nearly surreal area of quasi-reality.

      “You cannot be serious.”

      “I sure am!  No… wait.  You’re right.  You won’t pay attention to that.  I’ll have to take steps.”

      “I do believe this is the most unfathomable conversation in which I have ever been involved, including those conducted with Sherlock when he was at his most altered.”

      “He really could talk shite then, couldn’t he?  Spent a good two hours one night, after he broke into my flat and was high as a kite, listening to him recount his theory as to why bacteria were actually more socially evolved than people.  I think I still have the diagrams and charts he made for that somewhere in a box of papers, along with all the signs he drew to hold up when he was in a mood not to talk.  ‘You have no brain’ was a particular favorite of mine.”

      “You recount a lovely tale, yet you do nothing to alleviate my confusion.”

      “Now you know I usually feel when we talk.”

      “Hmmmm… it _is_ a disquieting experience.”

      “Something for you to remember.  Now, you stay in the front of the house until I give you the word.  Ok?”

      “I believe the operative word is ‘nope.’ “

      “Oh, come on!  Really, it’ll be worth it.”

      “I believe that would be for me to judge.”

      “And you’ll get to judge when I’m ready.  So, let me know when the lorry’s here, ok?”

And with a very cheeky pat to Mycroft’s arse, Lestrade strolled away leaving a very curious and very annoyed partner in his wake.  From Lestrade’s perspective, this was already shaping up to be a fantastic day…

__________

      “Gregory, your vehicle has arrived.”

Mycroft had spent a few minutes looking for his partner and, while he was not surprised to find him in the kitchen, he was surprised to find him…

      “What are you wearing?”

      “Clothes.”

      “I cannot envision a more excruciatingly painful day as the one I am currently experiencing and you may take credit as the cause  And why are you… is that oil?”

      “On my trousers?  Yeah, I think it is.  I wore these the other day when I helped that neighbor kid fix his car.”

      “That _neighbor kid_ is the son of the Norwegian ambassador.”

      “Explains the accent.  Knows nothing about cars, though.  Told him I’d show him how to do some basic maintenance when I’ve got an afternoon free.  Every lad should be able to change his own oil and a few belts.”

      “How collegial of you.  And did you wear that lovely… I hesitate to call it a shirt because there is precious little material present to warrant the term.”

It was a scrap of faded blue fabric that had its sleeves torn away in a most provocative manner.  The rip in the torso… there were peepshows that offered less flesh for the audience to view.  And that flesh was not so wonderful a blend of fit and yielding as what was now beckoning his fingers to come and explore. 

      “Hey!  It’s hot today and don’t think I don’t know you think _I_ look hot in this, too.  If your pupils got any bigger, I’d be able to walk through them like a door.”

Preposterous.  Just because his lover was demonstrating the perfect ratio of fabric to skin and had yet to properly comb his hair or evict the ruggedly-masculine stubble from his chin…

      “You are suffering delusions, my dear.  Would tea help?”

      “Pfftt… and I’m not planning on only wearing this old shirt to… to where I’m going.  I’m gonna toss something over it.  And no, I don’t want tea.  I’ll grab a water to take with me, though.  I’m going to be gone awhile.”

Mycroft’s mind raced like a thoroughbred trying to pull together the pieces of the puzzle and wanted to roar with frustration that he was being confounded.  And the goodbye kiss he received only partially soothed his turmoil.  Perhaps he had some work to occupy his mind until the next move in this particular dance was made…

__________

What a perfect day!  Actually warm and sunny for once and Lestrade couldn’t ask for better for what he was planning.  And this was what he loved – getting out and getting his hands dirty.  _Doing_ something.  Same reason he loved police work.  You did something.  Made an immediate difference.  Work on cars – take something that doesn’t work and fix it.  Drag an old chair out of someone’s rubbish – show it some love and it was better than new.  And now… oh, this was going to be fun.  He’d been planning for weeks, gathering up the right tools and battling the shops to get exactly what he wanted.  Now, all he had to do was pick up everything, add a few more items to his horde, then set about making it all come together just way he’d pictured it.  Oh, and keep Mycroft occupied in the meantime…

__________

Two hours and seventeen minutes.  The precise amount of time it had taken Gregory to conduct his mysterious business.  And without even a scrap of information to go on it was impossible to deduce in what manner the man had been engaged!  He had driven the blasted lorry around to the rear of the house and kept the doors closed until Mycroft had, again, retreated inside so he could not observe the unloading.  Intolerable!  There were… happenings… and he was not party to them!  Surely a small peek would not be amiss…

__________

And there was the first trap sprung.  Lestrade heard the makeshift alarm he’d attached to the doors leading to the sitting room go off and giggled to himself.  Less than ten minutes and Mycroft was already trying to snoop.  However, he’d also locked those doors so Mycroft couldn’t see through the exterior windows and spoil the surprise.  Wiping his hands on his trousers, Lestrade went inside, turned off the alarm, then began speaking to the door that remained solidly locked.

      “My, aren’t we the pretty little promise-breaker, Mycroft Holmes.”

      “Damnation!  My ears are still ringing from that blasted… klaxon!”

      “Naughty boys get their ears rung when they’ve been bad.”

      “I was simply attempting to retrieve a book I had left on the sofa.”

      “I hope you didn’t actually hear that pitiful excuse for a lie.  You’d be damned embarrassed if you had.”

      “Gregory Lestrade, I want unrestricted access to my own home!”

      “Here’s something to listen to… it’s me walking away if you can’t tell.  See you later, love.  Try and stay out of trouble.”

Hitting the door was not the wisest decision Mycroft had ever made.  English oak made a formidable adversary for one’s fist.

__________

When in doubt, a higher vantage point always offered a clearer view of the big picture, so Mycroft very casually ran up the stairs to look out of the windows and…

      “DEMONSPAWN!”

Lestrade heard the angry pounding on the upstairs windows and laughed, looking up to check that Mycroft’s histrionics hadn’t loosened the sheets he’d pinned over the windows.  From the outside.  Item one on his shopping list had been a ladder.

__________

Mycroft Homes was a veteran of countless battles of both wit and will and had always emerged victorious.  Now he was reduced to sneaking around the periphery of his own home to spy on his lover’s activities.  How utterly… revolting…

      “Good thing about mud is that it makes a nice squelchy sound when you step in it.  That ground has been saturated heavily with water and you’ll sink in nicely if you keep going.  Right up over your shoes maybe.  Ooey gooey mud seeping into your shoes, through your socks, in between your toes…”

And _that_ sound was Mycroft hurrying away quickly from one of his personal sticky points. Item two on Lestrade’s shopping list had been a nice long hose.

__________

How could one angelic man be so unapologetically evil!  Mud… of the legion of dirty tricks one could play, his lover had not hesitated to go directly to the top of the list.  If Mycroft wasn’t so profoundly irritated, he would be in awe of Lestrade’s brashness and prowess in this conflict.  But that was ludicrous.  One did not award the enemy admiration until after the battle was concluded.  And now he had to obtain new shoes….

__________

      “But Mrs. Gardner, I only desire to make use of your rear garden for a moment.  There may be some small damage to your hedge, just a tiny hole but I shall gladly pay for… no!  Don’t shut the door!”

__________

      “Anthea… I require satellite footage of my residence immediately and… what do you mean, no?... there has to be at least one satellite available for… he got to you didn’t he… my next call _will_ be to Human Resources… what do you mean you would enjoy the time off?... you _should_ marry him!  I’m not going to at this rate!... no, I don’t mean that…. no, I’m not going to scale the house and try to look down from the roof, but that’s actually not a bad idea… fine, I don’t keep any mountaineering equipment in the house anyway… but I do _not_ wish to be patient… no, I am not being petulant… yes, I will let you know the details… goodbye.”

 Personal assistants should all be boiled in oil.  What use were they if they wouldn’t even assist you a simple matter of personal surveillance?

__________

Google Earth… ah, input address… what?  ANTHEA!

__________

Mycroft was most certainly not sulking.  Not at all.  Not one tiny bit.  Why should he sulk just because he was quarantined in this miniscule section of his house and was without a single friend in the world?  And no… he was not going to turn around and demonstrate any affection to the person he had just heard unlocking the sitting room doors and was currently walking towards the kitchen.  Whistling.

      “There’s my Mycroft.  And sulking like a professional.”

Insufferable man.

      “I am not sulking.  I am merely thinking.  Something with which you are likely not familiar.”

      “That was the weakest insult I’ve ever had hit me and I’ve been called a meanie by more than one toddler.”

      “I would say their assessment of your character is quite accurate.”

      “Poor baby, you really don’t like being left in the dark, do you?”

Mycroft finally turned around in his chair to face his partner and was taken aback by what he saw.  It was not so much a man as a walking dirt clod.  Covered head to toe in grime that was caked on by an amalgam of sweat and oil and Mycroft had no idea why his body was reacting in the way it was, but right now he wanted nothing more than to throw his Gregory onto the floor and ravish him until the sun went down.  Apparently his mud phobia didn’t extend to when his lover was wearing it as a sexual enticement.

      “I… no.  No, I do not.”

      “Then how am I supposed to ever surprise you?”

      “I have never been fond of surprises.”

      “Well, I like giving them now and then, especially to someone who always knows everything all the time.  Now, do you want to _see_ your surprise?”

He should say no, but that _would_ be rather childish.  And his curiosity _was_ about to eat a hole in his stomach…

      “Very well.  I simply hope it is worth my time.”

No.  No one on Earth should have a smile as blinding as this muddy, sweaty, gorgeous vision of a man.

      “Oh, I think it will be.  Come on.”

Lestrade led his very disgruntled partner through the house and stopped right before they entered the sitting room.

      “Ok, now, close your eyes.”

      “Absolutely not.”

      “Mycroft, trust me, ok?  The room’s got windows and I don’t want you to get a partial view of your surprise before you get to see the whole thing.”

      “Oh, no sheets over those?”

      “Didn’t need to.  Besides, I didn’t think you wanted another pair of sheets getting holes in them.  I already killed a few as it is…”

      “Did you at least use the ones for the guest rooms?”

      “Sure, I’m not stupid, you know.”

      “For that, at least, I thank you.”

      “Alright so… eye’s closed and…”

Lestrade wiped off his arm as best he could on his shirt.

      “…take my arm; I’ll keep you safe.”

      “Gregory…”

      “Please, love.  You’ll understand in minute.”

Mycroft exhaled what he hoped was an incredibly put-upon sigh and let his eyes close, holding up his hand so that Lestrade could position his arm beneath for guided support.  The older Holmes heard the doors open and they began to walk across the room, pausing for Lestrade to open the exterior doors to the courtyard and then it was a few more steps before they stopped and Mycroft heard his partner let out his own sigh.  But this one was heavy with anticipation.

      “Ok… open your eyes.”

Mycroft hesitated a moment, then opened his eyes and suddenly felt unable to take another breath.

      “Well?”

One cannot speak when one cannot breathe.  This was not possible, simply not possible…

      “I know it’s not exact and a couple of flats of flowers aren’t coming in for another week, couldn’t be helped, but… it’s ok, right?”

It was not possible…

      “Mycroft, is something wrong?”

      “Gregory… this is… do you know what this is?”

      “Sure I do!  You’ve been moaning that it’s boring back here and… well, you’re birthday’s coming up so I decided to give it a makeover as a little present.  By the time the big day rolls around, things will really be blooming and maybe we can set up a table out here and have a nice breakfast to get your birthday going properly.”

      “No, that’s not what I meant… do you know _what_ this is?”

Lestrade smiled widely and kissed his lover on the cheek, wiping away the smudge his affection left behind.

      “Yeah, I know.  About the only nice thing you talk about from you childhood is playing in the little side garden at your Gran’s.  I couldn’t find any photos to use, but with a bit of forceful persuasion, Sherlock described it as best he remembered.  Took me quite awhile to match the actual flowers to his description, but I think I got them right.  So, I pulled out all the stuff that was back here and dug up a few new areas, did a spot of replanting… what do you think?”

Mycroft was actually having a very hard time thinking at all at the moment.  Looking at the new garden was like looking back in time… many years of time to a point where there was at least one place he could go and just be quiet.  Sit, enjoy the flowers and, as importantly, the silence.  Often he would bring a book and read for the entire day.  Sometimes he would draw or set up a table and work on a puzzle.  Anything but _think_.  For a short time he could simply enjoy and not analyze, calm his mind that raced and raced… Sherlock might believe he had a monopoly on that particular condition, but he was sadly mistaken.  His brother’s downfall was failing to ever take the time or effort to train his mind to manage the chaos.  And those small measures of quiet time in his grandmother’s garden had been instrumental to that training…

      “It is absolutely unimaginable.”

      “Yes!  I was so worried you wouldn’t like it.  I mean, it’s your nice memory and I really didn’t want to muck it up by doing a crappy job.  So go ahead, look around… now’s the time to tell me if you want anything moved or changed.”

But there wasn’t anything… it was perfect.  How his partner had so masterfully recreated that one precious space, with even the small plain bench against the side of the house and… no.  No, it could not be…

      “You found him!  Wondered when you’d see that little fellow.”

Not the rabbit… it had been a fixed point in his consciousness.  Something...someone he could talk to about any subject and not be judged.  The most stalwart keeper of secrets and the most patient of listeners.  By some criteria, the rabbit could be termed his best childhood friend...

      “How did you… it is a perfect replica…”

      “Not replica.  It’s the real thing.  Sherlock said you had a special fondness for little Peter Rabbit, well, he called it a perverted obsession, but that’s your brother for you.  I did try to find another one, but I couldn’t.  I searched the Internet, every garden shop I could find, antique stores… I sent picture after picture to Sherlock and he said they were all wrong so…”

      “Yes?”

      “I drove out there on a wild hope that maybe, even though your Mum sold the property, that it’d still be there.  And it was!  Sort of grown over and a little stained up, but he was there and… well, it was a challenge to get that old couple to let go of him.  Didn’t want it but didn’t want anyone else to have it either!  Had to take the wife to five different shops until she found something she’d take as a replacement.  Then it was a little restoration work to bring him back up to shape, but he’s looking good, right.  I didn’t know where to put him, so I just tucked him where I thought he looked happiest.  You can put him anywhere, though, and…”

      “No… he stays there.  I can see him no matter where I sit… just as I could then.  And it’s really him?  You… you went to that effort?”

Lestrade plucked at Mycroft’s sleeve and pulled him over to sit on the small bench that _was_ a replica of the one in the original garden.  That he could _not_ get away from the blasted old codgers that lived there now because their cat had decided it was his.  This one he’d almost had to build from scratch, but at least he’d gotten a good look at the original and found something local he could modify.  From the way his dearest lovingly ran his hand over the wood, Lestrade was reassured he’d done a good job.

      “Mycroft, I’d go to _any_ effort for you.  I love you and I’ve not found anything that makes me happier than making _you_ happy.  You should see your face when you talk about that little garden.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so completely serene as when you let your brain travel backwards and put yourself there for a moment.  You’re absolutely breathtaking when you go to that place in your mind and I knew… well, you work yourself near to death half the time and I thought if I could give you your little garden, you’d be able to come out here and sit and feel like that kid again.  And I got one of those big outdoor heaters to use when it gets cold.  It’s a good one, too, you can sit right on this bench and be toasty warm even in the dead of winter.  And anything else you want out here, just say the word and I’ll do it.  Anything for you, love.  You’ve made my life a _life_ … a full and complete and happy life and this… this is least I can do to repay you for that.  And I’m going to keep repaying you every single day of our lives.  Any way I can, so long as you’re willing to have me around.”

Mycroft Holmes was not a sentimental man by nature.  But at this moment, it was all he could do to hold back the rise of emotion that was swelling in his chest.  What had he done to deserve this man?  He could honestly not think of a single thing, but he would hold fast to him until he breathed his very last breath in this life.

      “I may be persuaded to have you linger in my vicinity for a bit longer.  Especially with my new knowledge of your g…gardening skills.”

Lestrade felt his heart flip at the tiny stutter, which for Mycroft, was near the same as breaking down in tears.  Maybe no one else in the world would know that, but he did.  He did because Mycroft loved him enough to let him see who he really was.  Take a peek behind the curtain and, when Lestrade liked what he saw, welcomed him to pull up a chair to make himself at home.  Only someone Mycroft loved with his whole heart would ever be given that opportunity and it had been given to him.  Of all the people on Earth, all the powerful and influential people, _he_ was the one Mycroft Holmes loved.  This was why he was willing to build a garden or carve a set of brolly handles that was going to be Mycroft’s wrapped-up birthday present… he was loved.  Unconditionally and unashamedly loved and that was worth everything in the world to him.

      “Oh, well good then.  Won’t start packing up my socks.  Now, how about I get cleaned up and take you out for a bite to eat.  Want to come up and join me?”

The feral purr in Lestrade’s voice shimmied its way down Mycroft’s spine, but it was not quite enough to break the spell by which he was currently enmeshed.

      “If I do, I am not certain we shall _make_ it to a restaurant and I am not going to allow you to miss a meal after your exertion.  Besides you shall require another shower in the morning if I have any say in the matter and I can join you then.”

      “And you’d like to sit out here for a moment.”

There was no deceiving his Gregory.  The man could see through him like a pane of glass.

      “There is that.  I admit that I find myself not quite ready to leave.”

Lestrade stood up, ran a finger along the side of Mycroft’s face and tipped up his chin so they could look into each other’s eyes.

      “Then how about this.  Bugger the restaurant.  I’ll get cleaned up, then pull together a little nibble to eat out here.  How’s that sound?”

Mycroft thought it sounded heavenly.  Truly a suggestion offered up by an angel.

      “That is an eminently successful compromise.  Do you require any assistance?”

      “Nah, let me handle this.  You just relax and I’ll be back out soon.  _You_ need anything?”

      “No… I believe I have all I shall ever need.  And he will be returning to me shortly.”

Lestrade bent over and gave Mycroft a soft and slow kiss before retreating indoors to make himself presentable for any further activities the night might offer.  For his part, Mycroft watched his lover leave and, again, tried to make his eyes believe what they were seeing.  His own little private world recreated by the most caring and decent man alive.  Only after several minutes could he trust his legs enough to stroll further through the wonderland his lover had crafted and stopped by his Peter Rabbit, stooping down to pluck the small statue off of the ground.  Sure enough, on the side of the left foot was the ‘MH’ he had scratched into the surface when he was a boy.  It was faded a bit, but it appeared that the restoration done on the piece had specifically avoided this one spot to ensure that it was not erased from existence.  Mycroft looked around and spied a small trowel that Lestrade had yet to pack away.  A few strokes and “GL’ now adorned the statue’s right foot.  Peter was set back down in his new home and Mycroft took another tour of his new grounds before returning to sit on the bench that was now his favorite seat in their home.

Anything… Gregory was perfectly correct.  When one loved, there was never an effort or an undertaking too large or too burdensome and he, also, had full intentions of devoting his days to doing whatever he could for his Gregory’s happiness.  Whatever was required, whatever was necessary.  Anything.  Anything for love…


End file.
